Being damned
by smileedudes
Summary: Being damned on the road to death can bring out the beauty of some. Short one shot, if you guys like it I'll write more and rating could possibly go up. Altair/OC


"Have you ever wondered what it would be like to die?" he hears her whisper. Rolling onto his back his eyes meet with the night sky. The moon is swollen and casts a luminous blanket across the earth.

He sighs "Of course" he replies. Because it's true, he has. It's difficult not to when you have watched many lives slip away, some peacefully, some not so.

"What do you think it feels like?" her voice is low, barley audible, but he hears her.

"I don't know." He answers truthfully, because how could he, he's never died before.

"Do you think you see the faces of loved ones? Do you think it's a bright light at the end of a corridor? Perhaps it's nothing, perhaps it's just darkness." He hears the desperation for answers clearly through her questions. She is frightened, for the first time in all the years he has known her she is afraid.

"Why do you ask such questions?" he asks her anyway despite knowing the answer. She is silent for a moment. Her low steady breathing fills his ears, breathing which has grown accustomed to. She is his novice, he is her mentor. The tempo of her heart and her lungs has become strangely familiar to him. He rolls onto his side to face her, noticing she is already facing him. Her green eyes stare desperately into his own. The fire that resides within her eyes seems tamer than usual; the fire which he hates to admit has branded him, scorched his heart and left its mark there.

"I ask because I could die tomorrow." His eyes rest on her full lips as she speaks, then slowly they trace across her cheek bones, past perfectly arched eyebrows lingering for a moment on the scar sliding through her right one. A scar he gave her in training, her first scar. She is only 19 a child, but when he thinks about he is but only 22 in the eyes of his farther if he were still alive, he would still be a boy, but circumstances are different. "Altair?" she breathes his name, his eyes drift closed at the sound. He cannot deny his name passing between those lips gives him far more satisfaction that it should. Courtesans whose skills lie in seduction could not form a more intoxicating sound. "Look at me." He doesn't deny her and his eyes slide open, she is closer than before, he inwardly chuckles at the thought, she moves almost silently. "If I die tomorrow I wanted to say thank you" those enticing lips pull up in the corners offering him a smile. He furrows his eyes in confusion. Thank him for what? Teaching a young girl how to kill, brining her to a possible death. He hears her light hearted laughter. "Thank you for believing in me and seeing me as an equal and not just as a woman..." her voice trails off as his slides across the small area of earth between them and up onto her palm. He looks down at the two hands resting on the ground; her skin is surprisingly soft across her knuckles, which is strange considering the amount of force behind her punch. Her skin is lighter than his as well; perhaps the moon light makes her seem paler. Strands of her black hair fall forwards over her ear and tickle his finger tips. He slides his hand yup further over her wrist, feeling the fragile bone beneath his palm. He hears her sigh almost contently, as if this is what she had wanted all along. He knows how inappropriate it is for him to touch her. Despite her deadly skills and her ability to kill with the flick of a blade, she is still innocent and pure. She is no stranger to the mind of a man he is sure, but she is a virgin and not his to take. And above everything she is his student, he is trusted to care for her and protect her, to teach her the ways of the creed. But he wants her, and he will be damned if he dies without knowing what it is like to touch her skin, to taste it.

His hand stops its travels at her elbow. He looks up at her and despite the lack of light he sees she is blushing. He raises his hand slowly, deliberately and brushes his finger tips across her cheek. He feels the heat radiate against his bare skin. The scarred corner of his lip twitches up into a smile. "You're beautiful" he says his eyes not leaving hers.

She shakes her head "I am not beautiful, my scars destroyed any hope of beauty long ago." She sits up pulling her knees to her chest. She wears her robes still, each piece of weaponry in place; it is far too dangerous to risk losing weapons out in the open. He follows her into her sitting position before leaning into her ear. His lips brush the sensitive outer shell of her ear; he hears the intake of her breath. His hand slides up her leg resting just above her knee, he feels her body tense at his actions. "You're scars are what make you so beautiful."


End file.
